


Heavy

by losercandy (pacificaxe)



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Childhood, Depression, Insomnia, One-Shot, Panic Attacks, Parents, Pets, non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacificaxe/pseuds/losercandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Neil doesn't particularly feel like trying to kill himself today, but he wouldn't exactly mind if he got hit by a bus."</p><p>(A series of alternating scenes from Neil's childhood and the share house.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Bastard Squad (you know who you are)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Bastard+Squad+%28you+know+who+you+are%29).



> I don't own these characters, they just keep me up at night...

He’s pretty sure his lungs are collapsing. Everything is far away, so far away. The only thing he knows is that his father is angry.  
“Stop that. Stop it _right now_.” His mother says. He can’t see her, but he knows her hands are on her hips. He can _hear_ it in her voice.  
His father kneels down in front of him and grabs his shoulders. He doesn't want to look at his father. He doesn't want to look at anything. Everything is starting to sound distant. He barely registers his father’s gruff, terse voice. “Stop. Over. _Reacting_ ” A sob racks his body. He feels his father’s hands tense up. He thinks his father may hit him, he thinks he deserves it. “Why are you doing this?” His father demands, quiet, but with alarming intensity. He doesn't know why he’s doing this. He wants it to stop, he wishes it would stop, he’d give anything to make it stop. He finally looks up from his feet. Sobs rack his body. He’s going to die, he knows it. He’s going to die, and his parents are going to be mad, and it’s all his fault. “I don’t… I don’t mean to.” He sobs. “I don’t know what’s going on! I want it to stop.” He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. He has to keep talking, but he can’t breathe. His parents have to know that he can’t help it, they have to know that he doesn't know why. “I-I-..”  
His father’s hands release their vice grip. “Enough sniveling. Sort yourself out, boy.” His father says, turning and walking out, exasperated. “ _Your_ son needs help.” His father hisses to his mother, before stomping out. Was the room spinning, or was he spinning? He'd clenched his fists so tight he thought his knuckles might pop through the skin. He feels like he is fading away. Grounding, grounding, he needs something to ground him. He closes his eyes. If his lungs are going to collapse, he wishes they’d hurry up. This is agony. He hears his mother’s heels clicking across the floor. “Stop crying.” It isn't sweet or maternal or soothing. It's an order. His mother walks out of the room, closing the door securely behind her. He falls back onto his bed. It's getting quieter. _Breathe._ His sobs are slower, further apart. _Breathe._ He loosens his fists a bit. _Breathe._ Grounding. Grounding? _What’s your name, spell your name._ My name is Neil. N-e-i-l. He falls asleep on top of the blankets; head nowhere hear his pillows, feet still on the floor. Grounding. Hands over his heart to make sure it is still beating. Spelling in time. N-e-i-l. N-e-i-l. N-e-i-

 

“You know, I’m probably the only barrier between you guys and death.” Neil says pleasantly one day, during TV time.  
“How do you figure?” Vyv asks from the floor, where he’s mercilessly pounding the set with a hammer for not having anything good on.  
“Well, since none of you seems to know how to cook or clean or shop or do much of anything, I kind of figure that if I weren’t here, you all would have died the first week after we ran out of the biscuits that Rick’s mum packed for him…”  
“Hey! I’d forgotten about that! You guys still owe me money for those!” Rick pipes up, jumping off the rickety chair. “Go on, hand it over!” Rick says, holding out his hand, palm upward. Vyvyan stands up and smashes him over the head with what’s left of the television, watching with glee as he crumples to the floor beneath the splintered wood and wires.  
“I’m sure we would have managed something.” Mike says, as though no one had been brutally knocked unconscious right before his very eyes. 

 

“NEIL!” his mother shrieked, her voice shrill. “How many times have I told you not to bring dogs home?”  
He looked up from the brown matted fur he was petting. “Uhhh…three?”  
“What?”  
“Well,” Neil said, holding up his hands to count, “there was Gitsie, the terrier, Leanoard, the Scottie, and Maxwell, I’m not really sure what he was… And every time I brought one of them home you said, ‘Neil, don’t bring dogs home.’ So, three, right?”  
She stood there, mouth hanging open for a moment while she processed his words. She came to, and straightened her composure, hands on hips, as ever.  
“How many times I’ve said it isn’t important, Neil. Once should have been enough. Or, better, you should have had the sense not to do it the first time!”  
“Oh but, Mum, just look at him!” Neil said, wrapping his arms around the dogs’ neck. This was by far the largest animal he’d ever brought into the house. It was almost as tall as he was.  
“He’s so skinny and lonely. He just needs to know someone wants him.”  
“Well, someone might, but that someone is _not_ me.” 

 

Neil doesn't always want to kill himself, but he usually wants to die. Most people don’t understand that those are two different things. For instance, Neil doesn't particularly feel like trying to kill himself today, but he wouldn't exactly mind if he got hit by a bus. He wouldn't go out of his way to step in front of the bus, mind, but he wouldn't exactly run if one was barreling towards him. His alarm finally goes off, so he rolls over and stops the arm before it rings him to insanity. Tea, he needs to make tea before Vyvyan beats him in the head with a hammer. He’s not sure he’d mind the hammer, but he actually can’t stand it when Vyvyan is mad at him. He doesn’t mean to upset him. He trips down the stairs on the way to the kitchen. He knew this would happen. Being a Gemini could be a real drag sometimes. Mike is already fully dressed and sitting at the table when Neil gets down stairs.  
“Uhh, good morning, Mike.” Neil says, with as much cheer as he can muster.  
“It would be if it wasn’t two in the afternoon.” Mike says, without looking up from his paper.  
“Oh it is, isn’t it…” Neil says to himself. “Oh, heavy. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long for your tea, Mike.”  
“Just under ten hours, Neil. Not long at all. You’re actually down sooner than I expected.”  


 

 

“Daddy, I don’t want to…” Neil sniffled, the rifle shaking in his hands. “Now, Neil. My father taught me how to shoot, and it’s my duty to teach you! It’s a tradition. You know what a tradition is, don’t you?”  
Neil nods, but his body is shaking. “A tradition has to be passed down, Neil.” Neil thinks he understands, he just wishes it could be passed down to someone else. His sobbing gets a bit heavier when his father points out a pheasant close by and encourages him to squeeze the trigger. He’s crying in that pathetic way only children seem to be able to. Completely unhindered. “Neil, quiet down, you’ll scare them all away!” _Good._ Neil thinks, but he doesn’t dare say it.

 

“Neil! Neil, is dinner ready yet?!”  
Neil is having trouble hearing from the roof, but he had anticipated this. This always happened.  
“I’ve told you, right, I put the lentil casserole in the fridge, Rick! It’s not very warm, but, like, I’m sure it’s fine.” He calls, walking closer to the edge. He thinks he may actually do it this time. He’s thought it over (and over and over) and he thinks the roof might be the best way to do it. He wonders how long it will take them to find him. “I reckon I’ll just be lying there in the garden for weeks and weeks.” He says to no one in particular. “Eventually they’ll look for me when they realize they haven’t eaten in a while… “ _But what if they don’t realize?_ “I’ll just be lying there and… and the guys will starve to death.” Starvation never seemed like a good way to go, not when Neil tried it. It was a very long process. Had he left enough food for them? It was almost dusk, maybe dusk wasn’t a good time to kill yourself. Dawn was probably better, wasn’t it? And the roof…Maybe the roof isn’t the best way to do it… Maybe he should wait a bit longer.  
“Neil, the lentils are COLD!”  
“Yeah I’ll…I’ll heat them up, shall I? Since I’m the only one who ever seems to do anything around here. It’s not like it’s that hard to turn on the stove, Rick. But I suppose if any of you tried to do any work, ever, or even thank me, your heads might explode or something…” Neil mutters as he climbs back down into his window and trudges down the stairs. 

 

“Neil, when was the last time you left the house?”  
He paused, pretending to think. “Umm, I can’t remember.” He said, not bothering to turn around.  
“Don’t you think you should come out with your father and me?” Neil continues to glue bits of string and feathers onto a stick. He had been having more and more nightmares and thought it was time for a dream catcher, only he couldn’t find a circular stick to put it on. He figured this would do. Dreams probably didn’t know shapes, anyway. “Well can’t you at least… shower or eat something?”  
Neil frowned. He didn’t think he could. He was so tired. Always tired. Eating meant cooking, since his mother refused to make anything without meat in it. And showering? Out of the question. He could maybe take a bath, but that was only if he could muster the energy to gather up some clean clothes and walk all…the way…to the bathroom. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any clean clothes, anyway.  
“I might.” He muttered, leaning closer to his work. “Neil, look at me.” His mother said quietly. Neil closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. He turned very slowly in his chair. “Neil, you’re going to have to cut this out.” He looked up at her with those big sad eyes. She hated those eyes. What did he have to be sad about? This boy, for whom she had provided everything, had the gall to look at her like that. This boy, in whom she had instilled such virtue, tried to bring up right, and he never seemed the least bit grateful. He needed a good talking to. He needed some sense. “You’re going to have to leave the house sooner or later.” Was all she said, though. She’d given him enough lectures already. They were obviously falling on unwilling ears. She turned to leave, feeling another knot forming in her shoulders. She paused in his doorway, and didn’t even bother turning around to address him. “We raised you better than this.” And she was gone. Neil let a few silent moments pass before reacting. He lowered his head onto his desk. He could feel tears falling down his nose, even though he hadn’t felt them rise to his eyes. He supposed they were just already there, waiting. His parents _had_ raised him better than this. They hadn’t meant to raise a boy who sat at home all summer, locked in his room making dream catchers. They had meant to have a happy son who went to social functions with them and made them proud. They had meant to raise a son who had lots of friends and was very athletic. They had meant to raise some sort of Anti-Neil. Neil felt very sorry for his parents. He didn’t think they probably liked him very much. It was a miracle they let him stay in the house at all. No wonder they hadn’t remembered his birthday. 

 

“Neil, I found this bag of your stuff in my room, which I think is pretty rude.” Rick says, lugging a dirt-covered bin bag behind him.  
“I didn’t leave it there, Rick!” Neil says, grabbing the bag from his hands. He plops down on the floor and starts rummaging through the contents. “Wow, oh wow! I’ve been looking for this since our first day at the last house! This is really groovy, Rick! Thanks!”  
Rick would normally tell him to piss off and stop sitting in the middle of the hall, but he can’t turn down flattery. “Well, you’re quite welcome, then.” He says with a smile. “Is there… Is there anything interesting in there?” Rick asks, inching closer. Neil isn’t paying much attention; he just keeps rummaging though and saying “Oh wow!” at odd intervals. It quickly gets very boring for Rick. “Oh, piss off and stop sitting in the hallway, hippy!” He says finally, annoyed that he’s being ignored.  
“Oh hey, Rick, look at this!” Neil says, waving an envelope in his hand. “It’s an old birthday card from my grandmum!”  
“Is there any money in it?”  
“I…I don’t know.” Neil says, turning the envelope over in his hands. “I never opened it.”  
He traces his hands over the lettering on the back, “Sorry it’s late, Sweetie Pye.”  
“Well, aren’t you going to open it now?” Rick asks, staring. Curiosity is burning him up. Why would Neil keep a card for so long and never open it?  
Neil’s smile has faded and he stares at it a bit forlornly.  
“No, I think I’m going to save it. For later.” _For when I’m sadder._ He remembers. He unpacks all of his forgotten things, placing them carefully on his desk and his window sill. When he finally gets to the card, he places it gently on his bed side table, propped against his lucky gonk. 

 

There was a soft knock at the door. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’ll turn it down.” Neil said glumly from his bed. The door creaked open slowly. “No, I-“ His father said, quietly. “No, the music is fine.”  
“What is it then?” Neil asked, his back still facing the door.  
“There’s some mail for you. It’s a birthday card from your grandmother. She says… She says she’s sorry it’s late.” There was something in his father’s voice, it’s hesitant and apologetic.  
Neil didn’t say anything. Neil didn’t move. Neil didn’t breathe.  
“I’ll just leave it here on your desk, then.” His father said, quietly.  
He heard his father walk across the room and pause. He made a few small, sputtering noises, like he wanted to say something, but he remained quiet as he left. Neil waited for the record to stop before he got up. He turned it back to side A, placed the needle, then walked over to his desk. The card from his grandmother was sitting neatly in the middle of his bare desk. “Sorry it’s late, Sweetie Pye.” was scrawled on the back of the envelope. Neil sat the envelope in his desk drawer for later. He thought he might need it more when he was sadder. That was when he noticed a small box on his desk. White and plain, and definitely not something he had put there. He opened it slowly. Inside was a small gonk with pink hair, and a card. “To our son.” was all it said. Neil stroked the gonk’s hair for a moment, before putting it on the shelf with the others. Tears slid down his face, fast and silent. He didn’t feel particularly happy, but they weren’t sad tears. Overwhelmed. That was the word he was looking for. He walked back to his bed, and placed the card under his pillow. The record crackled, but kept playing, “..Blessed are the sat upon, Spat upon, Ratted on…” Neil drifted to sleep, hand under his pillow, still gripping the card. “To our son.” _Our_ son.

 

“Oh man, oh man, ohman ohman ohman…” Neil is breathing loud and heavy and not deep enough, not nearly deep enough. “This is so heavy!” Falling. Is he falling? No, he’s standing. Still standing. Good.  
“Neil?!”  
Sweat is starting to dampen his shirt. He feels like his fingers and toes are disappearing. He’s sacred, he’s sacred, oh damn, he’s scared.  
He grabs Rick heavily by the lapels. Grounding.  
“Neil, what’s the matter with you?”  
Tears are rushing out of his eyes before he can stop them. He’s breathing loudly and it’s still not deep enough. Never deep enough.  
“This hasn’t happened to me since I was a kid, man!” He shouts, his voice high and scared, scared, he’s so scared.  
There’s panic in Rick’s eyes, and confusion knits his brows together. He squirms like he might try to get away, but he stays put. He’s got nearly all of Neil’s weight on his shoulders. He turns his head towards the door.  
“Mike? Mike!” He calls, desperate, moving his hands up to Neil’s arms to steady him.  
“MICHAEL!” 

 

Neil hadn’t slept in three days. The moon was full in the sky. It was beautiful, and it filled him with wonder and anger in equal parts. It was so beautiful he wanted to look at it forever, but it was so bright that he was definitely not going to be falling asleep that night, either. But if it hadn’t been that bright, he never would have seen it. A turtle, walking out from the bushes. Walking right into the Pye’s front garden. Neil jumped down from his window seat and rushed down the stairs as quietly as he could. When he got outside, the turtle was nearly on his door step.  
“Hello.” Neil said quietly, reaching out to stroke the turtle’s shell. “Would you like to come in?”  
Neil was never sure, but he thought the turtle’s head bobbed. A little nod. Neil scooped the turtle up and held it to his chest.  
“You can come hang out in my room.” Neil whispered to it softly. “Do you like Cat Stevens?”

 

Mike has his fingers on Neil’s neck, checking his pulse. He’s staring at his watch and muttering.  
“130 bpm, what’s the prognosis, Vyv?”  
Vyvyan is sitting beside Neil on the bed, flipping through one of his text books.  
“Well, 130 isn’t so bad, he seems to have calmed down quite a bit.”  
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Neil whines, wiping the tears off his face. Mike clasps a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Neil, if we’d have thought you’d done this on purpose, we would have had you sectioned.” Mike declares, trying to be reassuring. “Still might.” He mutters under his breath as an aside. Neil doesn’t hear him though. His eyes are focused on Rick, even though he tries not to seem like he’s staring. Rick is standing in the corner of the room, eyes wide with apprehension and still a bit of fear. “Is he- Is he alright?” Rick stammers.  
“Probably.” Vyvyan says with a shrug. He flips furiously through his text book. “I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, Neil. ‘A very heavy feeling’ isn’t in the symptoms index at all…” He hums for a second and keeps flipping pages. “AH-HA!” He finally shouts triumphantly.  
“Neil, I think you’ve just had a panic attack.”

 

When Neil gets a book about turtle care from the library, his mother asks no questions. Neil always reads things like that. Sometimes, he tells her he wants to be a veterinarian. She’s not overly fond of the idea, but she thinks at least, it’s a bit productive. Neil carries the book home and walks as fast as he can up to his bedroom. He is very careful to shut the door behind him completely. He pulls a shoe box out from under his bed. “Hello.” He says with a little wave, once he’s got the lid off. “I hope I didn’t leave you there too long.” He says, reaching down to stroke the turtle’s shell. “You don’t mind staying here and living with me, do you?” The turtle’s head bobs up towards Neil’s thumb. “Oh, good! I really think you’re going to like it!” Neil pauses to admire the turtle. “What should I call you…” He searches around his room a bit for inspiration. His eyes light on his book shelf. A grin spreads wide on his face. “I know what I’ll call you! I’ll call you Gonk!” Neil lifts Gonk out of his box, and places him on the book so they can read together. He asks lots of questions about which habitats Gonk likes the most, and later that night, he’s hard at work assembling materials. Neil becomes very good turtle owner. He makes sure that Gonk has lots of water and food, and he always sneaks him treats like strawberries and dandelions when he can. He paints a small peace sign on Gonk’s shell, because he thinks Gonk would like it. Neil very badly wishes his parents didn’t hate animals so much. He thinks they might like Gonk if they got to know him. 

 

Everyone starts to treat Neil differently, but Neil hardly even notices. They try to clean up after themselves, and not to include him in arguments, but they fail spectacularly, and eventually they forget they were even trying at all. But sometimes when they notice that Neil is getting a little quieter, and moving a little slower, and sleeping a little longer, and smelling a little worse, they remember. Sometimes when Neil is asleep, Mike sneaks in his room and waters the plants, since Neil forgets. Sometimes Rick breaks plates and throws them in the garden, just so Neil won’t have to wash them. Sometimes Vyvyan steals crisps and milk and biscuits from the corner shop so Neil won’t have to cook. It takes Neil a very long time to realize.

 

“Can you believe that, Gonk? He said he didn’t like John Lennon!” Neil said, pacing through his room. “He told me I should get rid of the albums…” Neil said, softly. Gonk began chewing on the lettuce Neil had just placed in his tank. “No, no… I know it’s your favorite, I’m not going to get rid of it. I’m just going to have to hide it, the same way I hide you. It’ll be our secret.” Neil says, smiling at his turtle. Neil pulls Gonk out of the tank, and lays down on the bed, with Gonk on his stomach. “I think I’m gonna put it on right now, while he’s still gone. What do you think?” Gonk’s head bobs, but Neil knew even before that Gonk wanted to hear it. He reaches his arm towards the bedside table, and lowers the turn table arm gently. He closes his eyes for a while and only opens them to turn the record over. By the time it reaches “Oh My Love” for the third time, Neil is asleep, and Gonk is crawling up onto his face.  


 

 

Neil rips the envelope open with a disproportionate amount of force. His jaw is set and angry, and he’s not going to cry, he’s not going to cry, not right now, he’s not going to cry. The card has a dopey picture of a cartoon dog on the front, and when Neil opens it, a five pound note comes flittering out, but he doesn’t even care. Five pounds means nothing, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to cry right now, can’t cry right now, because if he does, he won’t be able to read it and he really, really, really needs to read it.  
His grandmother’s handwriting is bad in a posh way, all flowing with too many lops and it takes him a few read-overs before he can get all the words right, but he thinks he’s got it all on the fourth try.

_To Neil, my precious angel and only grandson,_  
 _Happy Birthday, Neil. Twelve is a big year. You’re going to be a man soon! I hope that doesn’t scare you too much. Hold onto these times, Neil. Never forget them. Your strongest trait is your compassion; don’t let the world squash it out of you! People will try to tell you that you’re a fool if you care too deeply, because caring hurts sometimes. If your grandfather were here, he’d say, “Fuck them and keep caring!” (don’t let your mother read this card). If your grandfather were here, he’d be very proud of you, just as I am very proud of you. I love you very much, Neil. I know your parents can be tough sometimes (trust me, I raised your mother, she can be a bit of a bitch!), but I know they love you, too. I’m sure everyone that meets you loves you, Neil, just as I’m sure you love everyone you meet. Don’t lose that spark!_  
 _With much love,_  
 _Your Grandmother_

That night, Neil falls asleep sitting up, still clutching the card. He couldn’t believe it survived the fire. He couldn’t believe _he_ survived the fire. He falls asleep in a hospital chair every night for a month, just like his father did. He’s always talking and making tea, and begging them to wake up, but trying not to be too pushy. He reads the card out loud to Rick a few times, since he was so interested in it before, and promises to give him the fiver if he wakes up. Eventually he just promises to give the fiver to whoever wakes up first.

 

The first time he tries it, it lands him in a coma for two weeks. He dreams about hell and he can feel the heat. Nothing is good, nothing is right, but Gonk is there, trying to lead him back out. When he wakes up, the first thing he hears is his father’s voice. He can’t make out what he’s saying. He’s back asleep before he can figure it out. When he wakes up, it’s never for very long. He hates being awake. All his parents do is ask questions that he doesn’t want to answer. Questions he’s not sure he can answer. Everyone, everyone, everyone asks him why he did it, did he mean to, was it an accident, does he remember, can he try. He does remember. He remembers jumping out the window and he remembers thinking he wouldn’t have to see anyone ever again. But here he is, in a hospital bed, and they’re finally taking the cast off his arm and saying he can go home in a few days. Neil pretends to be asleep during the day, so they’ll leave him alone. But at night, when everything gets still, he opens his eyes and watches his father sleep; slumped over in a hospital chair, chin on his chest. Neil wonders how many nights he’s spent there. Neil will never ask. 

 

Vyvyan uses the fiver to buy a new pair of sunglasses for Mike, since his melted in the fire. Rick whines the whole time, because he swears he was up first, he just couldn’t get his limbs to work. They think about laying low for a few days, but they realize it’s been a month, and no one is looking for them. No one _was_ looking for them. Everything that happens for the next few weeks is fairly boring. They get a new house, but it looks almost just like the last house, just like the last one looked just like the first one. They settle in and everything is clean and nice for about a day. Everything is back to normal far too soon. Neil has never been so happy to see dirty dishes.

 

Neil’s mother hears him sobbing, and this time, she doesn’t ignore it. This time she doesn’t even knock. She wants to walk into his room and hold him forever. She’s still angry at him, she’s so angry, but she’s not ready to face it yet. She can’t believe she almost lost him. “Neil, sweetie?” She opens the door slowly, and sees Neil sitting in the dark, back to the door. He’s hunched over and crying. His sobs are violently shaking his small frame. She walks over and sits next to him. She places a hand on his shoulder and he flinches. “Neil, I’m here, Neil.” When he hears his mother’s voice, he leans into her arm and cries. There’s something in his hands. It’s a long time before Neil starts breathing properly. It’s a long time before either of them says anything. “Mummy, I…” Neil says without looking up. “He’s dead, mummy. It’s…It’s…” Neil starts bawling again. He shouldn’t even have and tears left, but he’s still crying. He’s glad he’s still crying. He wants to cry forever. His throat is raw and his ribs hurt, but he doesn’t care, he wants to keep crying forever. “Who’s dead, Neil?” His mother asks, trying to suppress her alarm. “It’s… It’s Gonk…” He says, showing her what’s in his hands. A turtle. She didn’t know he had a turtle. “I-I didn’t tell you ‘cause I didn’t want you to take him away, and now…” A sob breaks his voice. “Now it doesn’t even matter because he’s gone and- And it’s all my fault!” Neil doubles over around the turtle, his crying only slightly muffled by his arms. “I wasn’t here to take care of him. I wasn’t here. He needed me and I wasn’t here.” Neil’s mother wraps her arms around him. She tries not to cry, not to let him know she’s crying. It’s just a silly, stupid animal. He shouldn’t be this upset. She can’t tell him that now. Wouldn’t tell him that now. “I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here.” He repeats it all through the night and falls asleep with his mother’s arms still around him. When he wakes up in the morning, he’s been tucked in and the radio is playing quietly. His head is pounding, and his face is still swollen. He’s been crying in his sleep. When he walks downstairs into the kitchen, he sees a cigar box on the counter, with flowers on it. He walks up to look at it. Etched crudely on the side is, “Gonk, Rest in Peace”. Neil buries the box in the back garden, along with his John Lennon records. He doesn’t want to listen to them anymore. 

 

Rick is yawning very loudly at the breakfast table. If he had just done it once, they could have ignored it. But, Rick being Rick, he was very difficult to ignore. “Is something the matter, Rick?” Neil finally pipes up, after about the sixth yawn. “Oh no, no, nothing, it’s really nothing.” Rick says, feigning nonchalance. But everyone can hear it in his voice. He’s very pleased that someone asked. “Oh, well if it’s nothing, Rick…” Neil says, turning back to his cornflakes. “It’s just that I was up ALL NIGHT.” Rick says, sounding more pleased with himself with every word. “That’s nice, Rick.” Neil replies. He doesn’t notice that anything is odd until Vyvyan starts yawning, too. Not theatrical and exaggerated like Rick’s, he seems like he’s genuinely trying to suppress it. “Did you not get any sleep either, Vyvyan?”  
“Oh, of course I did, you snot.” Vyvyan says, throwing his spoon into his cornflakes.  
Neil is about to inquire further, when Mike comes bounding down the stairs. “Mike, as usual. Arrives fashionably late to the party.” He says, announcing his arrival.  
“What party?” Neil asks, with a whine. They’re always forgetting to tell him about parties.  
“Mike we uh.. We hadn’t gotten that far, yet.” Vyvyan admits, sheepishly.  
“Vyv, did I not _specifically_ tell you to start the party before I got here?”  
“What party?” Neil asks again, a bit louder this time.  
“Well, Neil, you know how we told you that Vyvyan blew up the kitchen last night?”  
“Yeah. That’s why you’ve put all the sheets up, cos there’s bits of wood everywhere and we haven’t got a stove anymore, right?”  
“Right.” Says Mike. “Well, that was a total lie.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Mike, can I do it?” Rick asks, bouncing in his seat a little.  
“Sure, why not?” Mike says generously, gesturing towards the big sheet hanging from the ceiling.  
Rick jumps up and gives it a very large tug, while he and Vyvyan yell “TA-DA!” in unison.  
Neil does not believe what he sees. The kitchen is completely clean, and there’s a brand new stove right in the middle, with a big bow on it.  
“Wow, guys! Wow!” Neil yells, bounding up from his seat to get a better look at it. In the middle of the bow, is a small card. Plain, with three words on it. “To our friend.”  
Neil doesn’t mean to, but he can feel tears forming in his eyes. Happy, yes. And overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with happiness.  
“Happy Birthday, Neil.”  
It’s taken them three years to remember his birthday, and they’re still a week off, but he doesn't care. Neil doesn't care one bit, right now. _Our_ friend. To our friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout out to [paul](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5023000/basterd) for giving life to Gonk the Turtle (sorry about taking it away), to [Toast](http://madebytoast.tumblr.com/post/78066433370/sweetie-pie-neil-pye) for the phrase "Sweetie Pye", to [Daphne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storiesfromthebluebox/pseuds/Storiesfromthebluebox) for helping me think of something sweet, and to [Yama](http://red-river-prince.tumblr.com/) for the title. The albums Neil was listening to are "Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel, (the song was "Blessed") and "Imagine" by John Lennon.


End file.
